The Girl in the Painting

by Kirsty Ferry

  ‘Ah, yes. Sorry. I did that,’ said Becky. She pushed her hands in her jeans’ pockets and shrugged. ‘I had to cool you down. Apparently, it’s an antidote to laudanum.’ Her eyes slid away from Cori’s, as if unwilling to acknowledge she had been party to the little exhibition Cori had provided for her.

  Cori swore under her breath and put both hands to her cheeks. They were burning hot.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Becky,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘I wish I hadn’t had to drag you into all of this.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Becky. ‘Stranger things have happened; but I need to get you back. And we need to see how you are for the rest of the evening. I’m a bit worried that it’ll happen again. And,’ a bitter little laugh, ‘it’s not like I can call an ambulance or anything if you flake out here. Well, I could, but it would be pretty much a one way conversation for them.’

  ‘Jeez, Becky, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say nothing.’ Becky frowned. ‘Let’s just go.’ She looked around uncomfortably. ‘We didn’t get that far. It’s not going to take us long to get back to Lissy’s, but we need to head back.’ She shifted her gaze to Cori and a little note of panic flitted across her eyes. ‘Oh, hell. Look, Cori. We have to get back. I think it’s best we go now …’

  Cori blinked as Becky’s face seemed to go in and out of focus, and she felt the cramps in her stomach again. Her mind recalled a few minutes ago.

  Hadn’t she been in another garden? But there had been water there. She knew she was wearing a long dress, which she could feel getting heavy around the hem and her shoes were filling with water. Then all she could see was the sky above her. It was inky black and the stars pricked out their constellations and glittered a thousandfold more than they had ever glittered before … she’d been reciting some beautiful words about the stars and the water. She could remember some of them and she adored them.

  … Her eyes were deeper than the depth

  Of waters stilled at even;

  She had three lilies in her hand,

  And the stars in her hair were seven.

  Then she’d felt hands pulling at her, dragging her away from the water and the stars all blurred and dimmed and then …

  ‘Cori. Come on.’

  Hands tugged at her again, leading her towards a gate. Someone was worried, Cori could tell by their voice. But all she wanted to do was stay there and …

  ‘Walk, Cori. Just keep walking. It’s not far, I promise. Keep it together, sweetheart. Come on.’

  Like an automaton, Cori gave herself up to the motion of one foot in front of the other, seeing nothing, aware of nothing, being guided along like a blind person. God, she felt sick; so sick. Her head was buzzing and it must be the caffeine; because if that wasn’t in her system she would be lying there, on the grass, sinking into blessed oblivion …

  Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams,

  And their dreams watched them sink, and slid away.

  Slowly their souls swam up again, through gleams

  Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day …

  Her body was crippling her movements and her mind was just a muddle of words and rhymes and desperate tiredness …

  And the next thing she knew, she was sitting on the floor in Lissy’s downstairs cloakroom and there was an argument raging outside the door.

  ‘Should we take her to hospital?’ asked someone. A male voice; Jon’s, she realised.

  ‘I don’t think it’s anything a hospital can help her with,’ said a female voice. That was Lissy.

  ‘Well, we can’t just let her go home like that.’ Becky, this time. ‘You didn’t see her. What if it happens when she’s alone?’

  ‘I’ve got plenty of room here,’ replied Lissy. ‘We’ll make a bed up and she can stay with us. Do you think it’s Daisy, though? Am I right?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Becky again. ‘It seems like it. She was out of it. I mean, completely out of it. She was telling me about Daisy taking laudanum and it really seemed like she was on the stuff too. Then I found out that coffee’s an antidote, so I made her drink my Americano and she was okay for a little while.’

  ‘Do you think Simon knows?’ Jon this time, concerned. ‘Because maybe we need to tell him.’

  ‘Noooooo,’ groaned Cori quietly, hidden in the bathroom ‘You can’t tell Simon!’

  ‘Maybe we shouldn’t tell him yet,’ said Becky.

  ‘Thank you,’ muttered Cori.

  ‘We need to be sure,’ continued Becky, ‘but you say she wasn’t like this before?’

  ‘No. She was really sensible at uni.’ Cori imagined Lissy’s mismatched eyes widening in horror at the thought of what her old friend was like now. ‘Well, I say sensible. She wasn’t backwards in coming forwards, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Lissy!’ Becky again, snappy.

  ‘Well she wasn’t. And she definitely wasn’t into drugs. I would have known.’

  ‘It sounds a bit weird,’ said Jon, ‘but then anything’s possible. Has she got an overactive imagination or—’

  ‘Jon!’ Becky, even more angry. ‘We’ve had this conversation before!’

  ‘Sorry, just wanting to check,’ replied Jon, affronted.

  ‘Well, it possibly is Daisy,’ said Becky. ‘If she wasn’t like this before and it’s all happened since she got that diary, it’s just logical.’ Cori heard very definite, very loud footsteps, as Becky apparently paced around the corridor thinking out loud.

  ‘I suspect you’re right,’ replied Lissy. ‘It’s definitely all happened since then. That’s why I wanted you down here to see for yourself. So I know it’s not just me …’

  The voices drifted away and Cori reached up and pulled a soft, fluffy towel from the heated towel rack. She buried her face in it, inhaling deeply the scent of fabric conditioner and washing powder. She needed to think; she needed to get her head around whatever was happening to her. But she knew she couldn’t think properly if she was either incarcerated in a hospital or staying here. She knew they meant well but would probably mount shifts outside the bedroom all night to keep an eye on her. There was only one thing for it.

  She clambered shakily to her feet and pressed her ear against the door. She could hear the voices coming from the lounge area now and she chanced opening the door a crack. Peering along the corridor, she saw there was nobody there to stop her and she took a deep breath. She opened the door wider, just enough to squeeze out and stood in the hallway, her knees practically knocking together.

  She inched down the hallway, quietly picking up her handbag from where she must have dropped it earlier. All the parcels of goodies she had bought for the mews house were also dumped on the floor but she couldn’t risk trying to get them all out tonight. She saw one which she knew contained her beautifully squashy, mismatched Orla Kiely cushions and cursed under her breath as her hand shook, trying several times to grab the handle of the bag before succeeding. The rest of the packages would have to wait – if Lissy ever allowed her to come back to this place again, of course.

  She steadied her breathing again as she seized the door handle and turned it quietly. As the door opened, she threw a silent prayer of thanks heavenwards and slipped out of the apartment. She pulled the door quietly closed and hurried away. She was thankful she was wearing her Converse – she didn’t like the idea of clattering down these halls with heels on – and she ran down the stairs, straight past the concierge and out into the street. She turned in the direction she had gone with Becky, half-remembering it was heading towards a main road and ran until she lost herself amongst a throng of people.

  The world started pulsing in and out again and her legs suddenly felt like lead – but she fought the all-too-familiar feelings long enough to identify a black cab at the roadside, hail it and fall into it, muttering her address.

  She slumped in the back of the cab trying to fight the nausea and regulate her breathing. The cabbie clearly thought she was drunk. He didn’t try to make co
nversation and he didn’t go the scenic route. So it wasn’t long before she found herself outside her own home.

  Pushing a bundle of notes into the man’s hand she murmured a thank you and weaved over to her doorway. The cabbie fortunately pulled away just as she doubled up in agony. Then she spent a good few minutes trying to force her front door open, crying with frustration. Eventually, she managed it, wobbled inside and banged the door shut behind her. And good God, she was pleased to shut the door on that day.

  Then and only then, did she allow herself to sink down onto the floor and huddle there, crying until she was fit to burst.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  KENSINGTON

  ‘Don’t cry,’ the voice said.

  ‘Go away!’ Cori shouted, still sitting on the floor. She jerked her head up and stared around her. There was a faint glow from upstairs and her heart began thumping, thinking that Daisy was actually going to manifest herself there and then in her lounge. It took her a good few minutes to realise it was the timer light on the standard lamp.

  Cori closed her eyes and let her head fall backwards. After a moment, she forced herself to stand up and managed to drag herself up the small staircase into the lounge. Her head spinning, she staggered over to the sofa and lay full-length on it. Too late, she realised she had left her gorgeous new squashy cushions downstairs but she couldn’t bring herself to raise her body from the sofa and retrieve them. She wanted to ring someone. She wanted to call Simon or her granny or anybody – but they’d all think that she was mad. And she had the worst room-spin ever.

  ‘You’re not mad,’ the voice said again.

  ‘Just leave me alone!’ Cori shouted into the empty room. She heard a faint sigh and pushed her face into the not-so-squashy cushions. There was a yielding noise and a creak as if someone was sitting down on one of her well-upholstered chairs and Cori caught her breath. Against her better judgement she lifted her head, terrified at what she might see. But there was nothing there; except the diary. And she couldn’t remember even putting it there, right in the centre of the seat. So she buried her head further into the cushions and screamed and screamed in the hope that she could simply drown it all out.

  When Simon had approached Cori in the gallery that first day, he somehow knew that whatever type of fool he made of himself over her, he wouldn’t care about it. He just had to try to make her happy.

  And tonight, he was probably going to make the biggest fool of himself ever, but he was willing to risk it for her.

  He pulled up outside her house in his two-seater and reached across to pull the giant bouquet of flowers out across the gear stick. The wrapper caught a little and ripped, and a few leaves shed onto the upholstery along with one or two flower heads. Simon fluffed the remaining foliage up and carried it more carefully out of the car and up to Cori’s door.

  He had been busy today. He’d had the day off and he’d not stopped. But he’d had time to go home and shower before he turned up on her doorstep, so that at least was a bonus; God, he hoped she’d like what he’d done.

  He knocked on the door, his heart pounding and the flowers weighing heavily in his clutches. He pulled at the foliage again, trying to pretty it all up and managed to pull a whole piece of fern out of place. Swearing quietly, he shifted the weight of the bouquet again and knocked once more, harder this time.

  As he knocked a third time, the door eventually gave under the rusty old hinges and Simon found himself staring at the tiny crack at the side, wondering if he should just push it that little bit more. He looked around, saw no neighbours peering out of their windows at him and gave the thing a good shove.

  The door opened more fully and he stumbled into the tiny hallway. Cori really needed to get that door fixed, as well as the rooftop one. That was the thing with old houses; they needed maintenance. He promised himself that he would come back and mend those doors for her. ‘Cori!’ he called. ‘Hey! It’s me. It’s Simon. Are you in? Your door was open.’ It wasn’t a complete lie. It was just a little more open now.

  He shut the door behind him and stood in the hall, listening carefully. It was a big house, and if she was on the top floor, she’d never hear him; but similarly, he didn’t want to head upstairs and startle her.

  ‘Cori?’ He tried again. Nothing. He took a step onto the staircase and, one hand on the rail, one clutching the flowers, leaning forward to try and hear any sounds of movement upstairs. He thought he could hear something, actually, if he held his breath and concentrated. It was like a snuffling, then a muffled, strangulated animal sound.

  ‘Cori? Okay. I’m coming upstairs, just so you know,’ he shouted. He saw a little utility room off to the side and put the flowers carefully on the bench just inside. His toe nudged something soft on the floor and he looked down, seeing a bag with brightly coloured cushions spilling out if it. Cori loved her cushions; he knew that much. So he picked the bag up and loped up the staircase, two at a time.

  Simon walked into the lounge and saw Cori, prostrate on the sofa, her head buried in even more cushions. Her shoulders were shaking and that weird noise was, in fact, coming from her. Now he was closer, it sounded like crying.

  ‘Cori? It’s me. Simon. Are you okay?’

  There was a beat and her knuckles whitened on the fabric she clutched. ‘Simon?’

  ‘Yes. It’s me.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ The voice came from under the cushion.

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Cori?’

  ‘Who sent you?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  Cori paused. She took a deep, shuddering breath and threw the cushion away onto the floor. She uncurled herself, sat up shakily and looked at him; her eyes were wet and her face blotchy. ‘Did they say anything about me?’ she asked. She seemed more concerned by that than the fact he was actually standing in her lounge.

  ‘Did who say anything about you?’ replied Simon. ‘I haven’t spoken to anyone.’

  ‘If the subject comes up, okay, there was a good reason for it.’

  Simon could see himself reflected in her irises by the lamplight. ‘I haven’t spoken to anyone,’ he repeated, ‘but I brought you some flowers. And you left your cushions downstairs. You really need to get your front door fixed.’

  ‘I know.’ Cori shifted position and twisted her fingers together on her lap. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve had a horrible day. It’s good to see you. Really good to see you. I don’t care at this point how you got in, I’m just glad you did.’ She attempted a smile and looked at the bag of cushions. ‘You know me so well. I needed these so much tonight, but I just couldn’t summon up the energy to go downstairs and get them.’ She stopped abruptly, compressing her lips together and looking away from him.

  ‘Do you want to talk about anything?’ asked Simon, taking a seat opposite her. ‘I have no plans.’ Well, he did, but if she needed to talk, they could wait.

  ‘No, thanks.’ Cori shook her head. ‘Not right now. But like I said, I’m pleased you’re here.’

  There was a dangerous wobble to her voice and Simon reached out, touching her hand. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Whenever you need to talk, I’ll be ready to listen.’

  Cori looked at him. ‘Will you come out onto the roof with me?’ she asked.

  Simon hadn’t expected that at all. ‘The roof?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. I need to get out of this room.’ Cori’s gaze shifted behind him, then moved around the room. ‘It’s like I can’t breathe in here. I feel like there’s somebody watching me, just out of sight.’

  ‘Somebody watching you? Who?’ asked Simon, cautiously. He knew, of course, what she was going to say. His eyes settled on the leather diary and he knew also that Cori’s eyes had followed his. It sat there on the chair, looking all innocent and he couldn’t quite let himself comprehend what was going through Cori’s mind about it.

  ‘Daisy,’ said Cori. She looked at him, as if she thought he was going to get up and leave. When he s
tayed put, she pressed on, a little warily. ‘Believe me, I don’t usually condone all this haunted object rubbish. I’m usually the world’s most practical person; but I feel like Daisy’s doing stuff. Stuff I don’t like. It’s either that or I’m going completely and utterly mad. It’s since I started reading that bloody diary. I kind of wish I hadn’t brought it here.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s …’ he started. But then he realised he wasn’t really sure at all. ‘Are you … don’t get me wrong, Cori, but I know how much you love the PRB, especially with your aunt’s connection to Rossetti. Are you not making connections when there’s really just a logical explanation?’

  ‘I wish that was the case. But sometimes it’s as if I’ve slipped out of my world and into hers. It’s difficult to explain. You know, like finding myself in Gower Street and knowing about things I haven’t experienced. Like laudanum addiction.’

  Simon shivered. He remembered that conversation they’d had about tinctures and the voice he had imagined speaking to him.

  ‘But haven’t you been immersing yourself in the PRB for a good few weeks now?’ he suggested. ‘Maybe it’s just on your mind too much?’ But before she could answer, something caught his eye from the direction of the chair and he snapped his head around. It had been a flash of silver, like a column of light, but there was nothing there. He dismissed it, thinking it had been a car headlamp from the courtyard and turned his attention back to Cori.

  She was still looking at the diary. ‘Yes, I might be imagining it. Or it’s real and I’m certifiable. But whatever, I’m going outside,’ said Cori. ‘Are you coming?’ Without waiting for an answer, she practically threw herself off the sofa and ran up the stairs to the second floor.

  Cori just needed to be out of that room. She needed to gulp in some fresh air, even if it was dirty, polluted, London fresh air. Brompton Road hadn’t quite cut it, she thought ironically.